


That Slow Burn

by chynarose



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23364415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chynarose/pseuds/chynarose
Summary: Love. Obsession. Desperation. The Doctor stole his TARDIS. But why. Why steal a TARDIS? And why *that* particular one?
Relationships: The Doctor & The Doctor's TARDIS
Kudos: 2





	That Slow Burn

That Slow Burn  
By Chyna Rose  
Disclaimer: Dr. Who is the property of the BBC.

The moment he had locked eyes on her from across the museum, he knew that he was in love. He had never seen anything as beautiful before, not even among the glitz and glamour of the showrooms where artfully made up temptresses wove their spell of the latest and greatest from the brilliant minds honing the cutting edge of what time lords could do hoping to entice eager young men – and women – into buying. Sure she was a bit old (ancient really); her formerly gilded splendor a bit worn, a bit faded, but still she stood proud. Not even the dismissive disinterest of his peers and elders could dim her glory. At least not in his eyes.

He must have made dozens of visits in as many days, just to be close to her. Mesmerized, he memorized everything he could about her. Every curve, every line; even blindfolded he could draw her portrait with the perfection of a photograph. Every triumph, every failure; no matter how minute the trivia or how obscure, if asked he could and would answer correctly each and every time. Obsessed his friends claimed. And one by one they left him until only one – the closest one whom he saw as practically a brother – remained. Stalker his best friend teased as they yet again circled the room looking without looking at her. Devoted he whispered, but there was no one there to hear him speak.

Time was the enemy. Every day, every hour, every minute, every second that relentlessly ticked by acted as a harbinger to their parting for even time lords had finite lives. Her time was coming. He could feel it. She was older than him by magnitudes and in her hay day, before she had been left to spend what dwindling time she had left keeping vigil in the museum, she had known strife and danger. The damage may have been healed, but the ghost of it remained to steal days she might once – had things been different – have had.

Shadows of thought became whispered rumors became fact. Panic gripped him inside where alarms rung in his brain all crying out that He Was Out Of Time. There were only one or two tomorrows before he would no longer be allowed to bask in her glory. The thought was devastating. He'd never had to deal with death and dying before – not on a permanent sort of basis anyway. There would be no coming back, no regeneration; not for her, not this time.

Desperation and the passion of youth coalesced into a mad, impulsive plan. It was a risky plan – getting caught would mean that he would have to wait out decades at best before he would be free to search her out again. At worst it would mean the rest of all his lifetimes cloistered away from her. He did **not** have decades; he had less than a week. Getting caught was not an option.

So he waited while impatience ate away at him. And then when the opportunity arose and the museum's security guards were busy handling something elsewhere (he hadn't bothered to care what had drawn them off, grateful as he was that something – anything – had, that he never knew what his best friend had done for him) he made his move. As carefully as he dared, he approached her once again. This time he got closer to her than propriety (and museum security) allowed – close enough to touch her if he wished (and oh how he wished. But he was not so far gone for her to not exhibit some restraint). Hurriedly, for he knew his time was short and the guards would eventually return, he introduced himself (she was a Lady after all and deserved some manners even if out of necessity he's going to have to be rather rude shortly). He confessed everything – what he is, what he was, what he hopes to become – because it is fundamentally unfair that he knows virtually all of her ut she knows nothing of him. And then with time running every short, he outlines his plan to her. Assuring her that everything's going to be alright now. He's here to help, to rescue her. If she would but agree to come away with him.

She welcomes him, her brilliant mad man, with open arms.

(Neither of them ever look back.)


End file.
